


now everything is easy, 'cause of you

by talkwordytome



Series: Emily-verse (Ratched) [3]
Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Caretaker Gwendolyn, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Moms, Mildred Ratched Needs a Hug, Sick Mildred, Sickfic, soft lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27830815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkwordytome/pseuds/talkwordytome
Summary: “Why not?” Gwendolyn asks. There is no argument in her voice, only patience, which irks Mildred even more.“Well, first of all,” Mildred says frostily, “it’s a child’s surgery, and I’m an adult.”“No,” Gwendolyn counters gently, “it’s a surgery for anyone who needs it, which you do.” She presses her mouth in a thin line. “And probably have needed for quite some time.”in which Emily & Mildred get tonsillectomies, but luckily mommy Gwenny is there to nurse them back to health.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs & Emily (original character), Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched, Mildred Ratched & Emily (original character)
Series: Emily-verse (Ratched) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036965
Comments: 51
Kudos: 83





	now everything is easy, 'cause of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rbk9009](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rbk9009/gifts).



> For Rbk9009, who requested it! I hope it's okay that this takes place in the Emily-verse, boo. It seemed the best way to establish a premise for a tonsillectomy fic, & I'm really enjoying exploring Emily as a character.
> 
> Title comes from the song "Our House" by Crosby, Stills, and Nash.
> 
> Something that was locked deep in the recesses of my eidetic memory brain is that comicbookloverevergreen wrote a beautiful Carol fic in which Therese has *her* tonsils out, & without consciously registering it based *my* fic on that one. So please go and read it, and everything else she’s written, because all of it is brilliant.

The only true downside to having a child, Mildred discovers, is that children are veritable germ magnets. 

She supposes it shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is, given that she was once a nurse, but in all fairness she spent most of her career caring for adults. And adults do not have perpetually running noses. Adults are not constantly putting their hands in their mouths and then proceeding to touch other objects and people. Adults don’t share snacks and toys. It’s really not even that _Emily_ is especially guilty of those things; she’s a remarkably tidy child, all things considered. Emily’s _schoolmates_ , however, are another matter entirely.

It’s a rainy Monday in early January, and Mildred is thinking about this as she, Gwendolyn, and Emily sit in a chilly exam room, waiting to be seen by Emily’s pediatrician. Emily had woken up with a sore throat the day before, which hadn’t been cause for much concern until this morning, when a fever joined the mix.

“It’s probably tonsillitis again,” Gwendolyn had sighed. “To Dr. Klein we go.”

Emily has weak lungs and is also rather prone to these bouts of tonsillitis, which Mildred knows all too well are the unfortunate side effects of spending the first nearly nine years of her life without reliable and consistent access to medical care. She stoically bears illness and discomfort without much--or, indeed, any--complaint, a quality most adults might admire. Mildred, though, is not most adults. Emily’s quiet forbearance isn’t some intrinsic virtue. She had no say in becoming that way. It was taught to her in the cruelest manner imaginable.

But Emily is learning how to accept comfort, and how to ask for it. Presently, she’s lying across Mildred and Gwendolyn--her head is on Gwendolyn’s lap, and her feet are on Mildred’s--and has both their coats draped over her like they’re blankets. Gwendolyn is reading aloud from _Henry and Beezus_. Emily’s eyes are closed but Mildred can tell she isn’t sleeping; she’s not a particularly good sleeper at the best of times, and this is far from the best of times. It’s one of many things she and Mildred have in common.

Gwendolyn is halfway through chapter three when Dr. Klein comes into the room. She plants her hands on her hips when she sees Emily and pretends to glare.

“I thought I told you that you weren’t allowed back here anymore?” she says. Emily manages a wan smile.

They like Dr. Klein, all three of them. She’s older than Gwendolyn and wears her silvery hair short, cut close to her head. She has a loud voice and wrinkles around her eyes when she smiles. She adores Emily--as she rightfully should, Mildred thinks--and has a habit of slipping her an extra lollipop at the end of appointments. 

Dr. Klein takes Emily’s temperature and listens to her chest. She feels Emily’s lymph nodes and uses her penlight to look down Emily’s throat. She sighs. 

“Tonsillitis,” Dr. Klein says with a frown, confirming their suspicions. She sticks her hands in the pockets of her medical coat. “You know,” she says, “it may be time that we consider taking them out.”

“Taking what out?” Emily asks nervously. “My tonsils?”

Dr. Klein nods. “Sure,” she says. “Lots of people get their tonsils out, and usually they’re children even younger than you.” 

She raises her eyebrows. “What do you say, Em?” she asks. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have fewer sore throats?”

Emily considers this. “I suppose so,” she says. “I’ve never really thought about it. Would I have to miss school?”

Dr. Klein grins. “Well, that’s the best part,” she says, laughing. “A ten day vacation and all the ice cream you can eat.”

“ _Ten_?” Emily repeats, scandalized. Mildred fights back a smile. Their dear, studious little bookworm. 

Emily chews on her thumbnail until Gwendolyn gently pulls her hand away from her mouth. “Will it hurt?” Emily asks.

“Some,” Dr. Klein says. Mildred appreciates her honesty. “You’ll have a right nasty sore throat for a few days, maybe a week, but we’ll give you medicine for it. And you’ll be asleep for the whole operation.”

Gwendolyn places her hand on Mildred’s thigh. “I had mine taken out when I was, oh, eleven? Twelve?” she says. “It’s such a routine surgery anymore; I’m surprised that Emily _hasn’t_ had hers out.”

“I’m not,” Mildred says. Upon Dr. Klein’s confused look, Mildred elaborates. “Foster children are lucky if they see a doctor once a year, if that. Operations are more or less out of the question unless there’s some sort of emergency.” She shrugs. “I still have mine.”

At this admission, Dr. Klein narrows her eyes. Mildred blushes. “How are you feeling today, Miss Ratched?” Dr. Klein asks.

“Me?” Mildred says, taken aback. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you. Why do you ask?”

Except she’s _not_ perfectly fine, and she knows it. Her sinuses are congested and her head hurts. She has a sore throat and what feels increasingly like a fever to match Emily’s. Emily is not the only one with delicate health in their little family, though Mildred usually chooses not to mention this. She finds illness impractical, and Mildred detests the impractical. If it goes unacknowledged, it is much easier to pretend that nothing is wrong. 

Gwendolyn is willing to let Mildred do this, to an extent. She knows what it means to Mildred, that she always be permitted a certain level of control when it comes to her own life. Dr. Klein, however, has no such qualms. She turns her penlight back on.

“Open up,” she instructs Mildred briskly.

Mildred, very briefly, considers refusing. The embarrassment of making a fuss in front of Emily, though, is an even more mortifying prospect than that of being ill in front of other people. So while she allows herself a brief eye roll, Mildred does, after a moment, comply.

“Hmm,” Dr. Klein says, frowning. “Say _ahh_.”

Milred rolls her eyes again. Gwendolyn gives her a look. 

“Ahhh,” Mildred echoes.

“You must be miserable,” Dr. Klein says, matter-of-factly, after a bit of looking. “Your throat is in worse shape than hers,” she adds, nodding to Emily.

Emily looks to Mildred, alarmed. “Did I make you sick?” she demands.

“Absolutely not,” Mildred says firmly, glaring at Dr. Klein for--even unintentionally--putting that notion in Emily’s head.

Dr. Klein takes Mildred’s temperature, which is hovering around 100.8. This pronouncement elicits a soft, sympathetic sound from Gwendolyn. Mildred winces. This is precisely what she was hoping to avoid.

“Mildred,” Gwendolyn says reprovingly, “why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“I didn’t know,” Mildred says obstinately. 

They leave Dr. Klein’s with penicillin prescriptions for Emily and Mildred, a referral for an ear, nose, and throat doctor, and instructions to call them to make a consultation appointment. 

“The sooner she gets those tonsils out the better,” Dr. Klein says as she hands Emily her lollipop (or several lollipops, as it were). “Within the next three weeks if at all possible.” 

She does not specify the _she_ that she means. 

Emily sleeps during the car ride home, and Mildred sits silently--sullenly--in the front passenger seat. She knows she’s being more dramatic than she should be, but she can’t make herself care. It certainly doesn’t help that she feels well and truly sick at this point, now that the universe has given her its permission to admit it. She shivers and pulls her coat tighter around her body. She rests her feverish cheek against the cool glass of the window.

Gwendolyn peers at Mildred from out of the corner of her eye. “You should do it, you know,” she says. She doesn’t elaborate. 

Mildred scoffs. “I most certainly should _not_ ,” she says, sniffling. 

“Why not?” Gwendolyn asks. There is no argument in her voice, only patience, which irks Mildred even more.

“Well, first of all,” Mildred says frostily, “it’s a child’s surgery, and I’m an adult.”

“No,” Gwendolyn counters gently, “it’s a surgery for anyone who needs it, which you do.” She presses her mouth into a thin line. “And have probably needed for quite some time.” 

Mildred takes Gwendolyn’s hand and squeezes it. She thinks, sometimes, that Gwendolyn hates the adults who let her suffer even more than Mildred herself hates them. At the very least, Gwendolyn’s anger lives closer to the surface, always ready to bubble over on Mildred’s behalf, and Mildred loves her fiercely for it.

“You can’t take that much time off to look after Emily and then me,” Mildred continues. “You’re entirely too valuable at your office. You’d be out for nearly a month when all is said and done.”

“So we’ll schedule your surgeries for the same day,” Gwendolyn says, shrugging.

“But that would be too much work for you,” Mildred doggedly persists, “looking after both of us at once.”

“It would be the exact right amount of work, given that there’s nothing I enjoy more than taking care of my two favorite girls,” Gwendolyn says, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile.

Mildred huffs. She’s running out of arguments but determined to make her case. “It’s too expensive,” she says, and to this Gwendolyn simply snorts.

“We have the money,” Gwendolyn says, so easily and casually that it nearly hurts Mildred’s stomach. 

They’re silent after that, until they get home. They pull into the driveway. Emily is still sleeping soundly in the backseat, and Gwendolyn gazes at her fondly. She’s pondering something, weighing something, though what it is Mildred isn’t sure.

Finally, Gwendolyn says, “It worries her, when you’re sick. Emily, I mean.”

Mildred looks down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap. “I know who you meant,” she murmurs. Anxiety thrums behind her ribs. She recalls earlier, the panic on Emily’s face when she realized Mildred was unwell. “Does it really?”

Gwendolyn nods. She opens her car door and gets out. She walks around to the back and takes Emily into her arms. Emily shifts and mumbles something, but doesn’t wake. Gwendolyn pauses as she passes by Mildred on her way into the house.

“Think about it,” she says.

Gwendolyn calls the doctor. She schedules Emily’s surgery for February 2nd. They spend the day resting, Emily reading in her bed, Mildred falling in and out of sleep on the living room sofa. Gwendolyn bustles about, tidying the house in-between cooking an enormous pot of chicken soup. She makes a few important phone calls and drafts some speech points. She relishes this quiet slice of domesticity, a rarity in her otherwise busy schedule.

Late in the afternoon, Mildred stumbles groggily into the kitchen. Gwendolyn is sitting at the table, editing a letter she needs to mail. She peers at Mildred from over the tops of her reading glasses. 

“Hello you,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

Mildred sits across from Gwendolyn and buries her face in her arms. She whimpers. 

“That bad, huh?” Gwendolyn teases, running a hand through Mildred’s hair.

Mildred picks up her head. She squints up at the light, then sneezes. She clears her throat. She blinks blurrily at Gwendolyn. 

“Fine,” she says.

“ _Fine_ , what?” Gwendolyn asks absently.

Mildred sighs. “ _Fine_ , I’ll get the surgery,” she grumbles.

Gwendolyn stands up, then walks around the table so she’s standing behind Mildred. She wraps her in an enormous hug.

“Thank you,” she whispers. 

The weeks pass. Gwendolyn stocks up on ice cream, boxed mashed potatoes, pudding, and soup. She reads informational pamphlet after informational pamphlet that she gets from the ear, nose, and throat doctor. She buys gifts to give Emily and Mildred once they’ve successfully made it through: a doll, a gorgeous illustrated copy of _Peter Pan_ , and a Magic 8 ball for Emily, and a bottle of perfume, yellow leather driving gloves trimmed with fur, and a strand of pearls for Mildred. No matter how hard Mildred tries to change her appointment date, Gwendolyn refuses to let her.

The night before the surgeries, Mildred lies awake in bed. Emily is between them; she came in around midnight, too nervous to close her eyes, and Gwendolyn and Mildred hadn’t had the heart to deny her. She’s sleeping now, though, her breaths deep and even. Mildred rolls over towards Gwendolyn and props herself up on an elbow.

“What if something goes wrong?” she whispers.

“It won’t,” Gwendolyn whispers back. She pets Emily’s hair. “Tonsillectomies are done every day with no complications. You’ll _both_ be fine.”

Mildred chews on her bottom lip. “But what if we’re not?” 

Gwendolyn leans over Emily’s prone form and kisses Mildred’s cheek. “You will be,” she says, “and I’ll be waiting right there when both of you wake up.”

Gwendolyn keeps her promise. She visits Emily in the children’s ward first. She has a mouth full of gauze and is hilariously, adorably loopy from the potent cocktail that is anesthesia and painkillers. 

“She broke her leg,” Emily says hoarsely, pointing at her sleeping bed neighbor with wide, glassy eyes, “fallin’ out of a tree.” She giggles helplessly. “That’s so silly. I would _never_ fall out a tree, Gwenny. I’m too coordin--coor’nate--coordin _dated_ \--?”

“Coordinated, sweetheart,” Gwendolyn says. She smooths Emily’s hair back from her forehead. “Get some sleep. You’ll need your strength as you recover. I’ll be back once I’ve checked on Mildred.”

When Gwendolyn gets to Mildred’s room, Mildred is still sleeping. She’s pale and still, her red hair fanned out on her pillow. She looks like an angel. Gwendolyn settles herself in a chair to wait. She gets her copy of _East of Eden_ , which she has been slowly working through, from inside her bag and reads. She’s barely made it through a paragraph when Mildred’s eyes flutter open. She makes a weak, pained rasp that Gwendolyn immediately recognizes as her own name. She snaps her book shut and puts it aside.

“Darling,” she breathes.

She rushes to Mildred’s bedside. She kisses every single one of Mildred’s fingers, her neck, her cheeks, her forehead. She doesn’t care who sees. Let them. They don’t matter; the only person who matters, in this moment, is Mildred. Her Mildred. Treasure of her heart.

Mildred is disoriented from the medication, too, but she is weepy instead of giggly. She looks up at Gwendolyn from her narrow hospital bed. Her mouth trembles. Fat tears gather in her eyes and drip down her cheeks.

“ _Hurts_ ,” she croaks. She buries her face in Gwendolyn, tries to disappear into her familiar, perfect smell.

“I know, baby,” Gwendolyn soothes. “I know.”

She kisses Mildred’s tears away. “You were _so_ brave, my love,” she murmurs. “My brave, wonderful girl.”

Mildred sniffles. “Emily…?” she manages.

“Fine,” Gwendolyn reassures with another kiss, “just fine. Made it through with flying colors. She’s in the children’s ward having a marvelous time. She has a box full of get well cards from her classmates to open when she gets home.”

They leave the hospital the following afternoon. Mildred and Emily are tucked into the master bed, to minimize the number of back and forth trips for Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn makes herself a camp bed on the living room sofa. She calls the office and ensures that they’ve got it on record that she will be out for the next week, at least. 

A day goes by, then two. Emily’s recovery is uncomfortable but straightforward. Mildred’s is not. The pain is miserable, some of the worst she has ever experienced, and Mildred has experienced more than her share of pain. She’s nauseated and feverish. She’s been prescribed a liquid medicine that’s supposed to help, but half the time she can’t bring herself to swallow it. It hurts too much. Everything hurts too much. She hardly eats, and she loses weight. Gwendolyn frets, because Mildred can’t afford to lose weight in the first place, but much as Mildred would like to assuage Gwendolyn’s anxieties she quite simply cannot. Gwendolyn does insist on water, a full glass every hour, and sits next to Mildred until she’s finished the entire thing.

On the fourth day, Emily is well enough to sit up in bed and work on a few of the assignments Miss Holland sent home with her, _just in case_. Mildred, for the most part, restlessly sleeps, but sips at half a bowl of broth with Gwendolyn’s encouragement. She gets plenty of cuddles and kisses for her trouble. Emily reads aloud to Mildred from her new copy of _Peter Pan_ when her voice has the strength. Her rendition of Captain Hook is particularly funny. Gwendolyn steps in when Emily gets too tired, even though--Mildred and Emily privately agree later--she’s not very good at doing all the different characters’ accents.

Mildred’s fever finally breaks on the fifth day, and her nausea recedes enough to manage a bowl of raspberry sorbet. Her throat is still too sore to speak more than a word or two at a time, so Gwendolyn gets her a bell to ring when she needs something and a pad and pencil so she can write her down requests. Mildred finds the bell patently ridiculous-- _I’m not an invalid_ , she writes, cross, which makes Gwendolyn laugh given that she so very clearly _is_ \--but Emily is more than happy to ring it for her. Emily writes a long letter to her best school friend, a sweet, round-faced little girl named Kathleen, and asks Gwendolyn to mail it.

Trevor makes a surprise appearance on day six. He brings with him a basket full of baked goods and prepared meals Gwendolyn can freeze and eat later. He has treats for Mildred and Emily, too. He gives Emily a paper doll with five outfits, along with Emily-sized versions of the outfits to match. Emily’s favorite is a bottle-green velvet dress and matching wide-brimmed hat. The hat has a jaunty peacock feather stuck in the back of its brim. She models it for them, to much fanfare and applause.

“You spoil her,” Gwendolyn says mildly, and Mildred can tell she’s pleased. 

As has become his tradition, Trevor gives Mildred a gorgeous bouquet--this time, it’s gladiolus, larkspur, and sweet pea. He also has a large, heavy parcel wrapped in brightly patterned paper, which Gwendolyn is tasked with opening. Inside is a brand new turquoise stand mixer with all the attachments.

“I’ve been told you’ve taken an interest in cooking,” Trevor says, smiling widely at the expression of utter bemusement on Mildred’s face. “I have my own at home; I just bought it a few weeks ago. I’ve no idea how Andrew and I managed without it.”

Mildred shakes her head. “It’s too much,” she croaks. “I can’t possibly accept.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Gwendolyn demands. “Of course we can accept, and we _do_.”

“It must’ve been _so_ expensive…” Mildred protests, but she’s already longingly stroking the outside of the box.

Trevor chuckles. He pats Mildred’s leg affectionately. “If you are even half the cook Gwendolyn says you are,” he says, winking, “you need it. After all, the finest craftsman deserves only the finest tools.”

Mildred buries her bright red face in her blankets and doesn’t answer.

Mildred and Emily both go to bed around 9:00. This leaves Gwendolyn and Trevor laid up on the sofa. Gwendolyn’s feet are in Trevor’s lap and he’s massaging them, something that Gwendolyn occasionally misses from their marriage. 

“How is the little one doing?” Trevor asks.

“Emily?” Gwendolyn murmurs. “She’s a trooper. I don’t think she’s complained about the pain once, though I wish she would. I worry she keeps so quiet because she thinks it’s what she’s supposed to do.”

Trevor makes a concerned sort of noise in the back of his throat. “And the other little one?”

Gwendolyn laughs softly. “Oh, Mildred,” she sighs. “The poor dear has been miserable. I’m sure it’s just because she’s so much older than most people who get their tonsils out but her recovery has been so difficult. Her fever is gone, at least, which is something.”

She stutters a yawn against her palm and blushes. “I _am_ sorry--” she says, but Trevor shushes her.

“You’ve been running yourself ragged,” he gently reprimands. 

Gwendolyn scoffs. “Hardly,” she says.

Trevor raises a stern eyebrow. His hands still on Gwendolyn’s feet and Gwendolyn whines her protest. “Gwenny.”

“Fine,” she concedes, pouting. “Maybe a little. _Maybe_.”

Trevor goes upstairs and gets Gwendolyn clean pajamas from her dresser. He watches carefully as she washes her face and moisturizes. He places a small sprig of lavender on her pillow. He tucks the blankets carefully around her legs and feet. He leaves her a mug of tea sweetened with honey and cream. He kisses her on her forehead.

Gwendolyn leans into his touch. “You’re too good to me,” she says, already mostly asleep.

Trevor smiles. “That’s not possible.”

The seventh and eighth days, life begins to return to a version of normal. Mildred is finally able to eat something small for each meal of the day; she favors mashed potatoes and milkshakes, both of which Gwendolyn makes in abundance. Gwendolyn insists that they all take short afternoon walks when the weather is warm enough to permit them; the fresh air and sunshine, she maintains, will bolster their recoveries just as much as medicine and rest. Mildred brings her notepad on these excursions, because her voice is still too weak to talk at length. 

Emily becomes well enough to grow restless and irritable about her imposed convalescence. Kathleen is permitted a short visit on day nine, once school is over for the day. Gwendolyn serves them a plate of chocolate chip cookies and tall glasses of milk. Kathleen, her blonde pigtails bouncing as she giggles, merrily tells Emily about all the class gossip she has missed and, most importantly, provides detailed updates on all of Miss Holland’s outfits. Emily listens with rapt attention. 

By day ten, Emily is all but healed, some hoarseness aside, and moves back into her own room. Gwendolyn returns to the master bedroom. Mildred no longer requires her notepad to communicate, but she tires easily, and takes lots of short naps. She’s steadier, and not quite so pale. She begins to gain back some of the weight she lost immediately after the operation, which thrills Gwendolyn. 

“You’ve been worrying me,” Gwendolyn finally admits. 

It’s a Sunday, and it’s been nearly two weeks since the tonsillectomies. Emily is returning to school tomorrow and she’s already asleep. Gwendolyn and Mildred are cozied on the sofa, watching television. Mildred’s head is in Gwendolyn’s lap, and Gwendolyn runs soft hands through her hair. 

Mildred tilts her chin up so her face is angled towards Gwendolyn’s. “Me?” she asks.

Gwendolyn taps her finger against Mildred’s nose. “Yes, you,” she teases. “You’ve been _so_ sick, my love.”

Guilt flashes across Mildred’s face. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to be.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Gwendolyn soothes. “Of course you didn’t. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mildred’s eyebrows furrow, and Gwendolyn has half a mind to kiss away the wrinkles that appear. She does precisely that.

“But…I worried you,” Mildred says. “I hate it when you worry. Especially when it’s because of me.” 

“Well, fortunately _I_ don’t mind worrying over you a single bit,” Gwendolyn says. “You’re feeling better now, though?”

“Yes,” Mildred says, and it’s true.

Because her throat might still hurt, and she might still be more tired than she’d like, but those things don’t really matter. At least, they don’t seem to matter so much, not when she’s here, warm and safe, with her Gwendolyn. Nothing seems to matter so much when she’s with Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn, in that way, might be a little bit magic.

Mildred cups Gwendolyn’s cheek in her hand. “I’m wonderful,” she says, and she means it.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you have any requests! You can do it here or message me on tumblr @ anneofgreengaybles. I still have a few that I need to work through but am more than happy to add to the list!
> 
> How are we doing, my loves? Hanging in? Staying warm? Taking care of ourselves? <3 <3 <3


End file.
